


orchids and lilies

by whiteautumn



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Ken is a crybaby - somewhat, Kishou is awesome as usual and very sweet, M/M, Romance, Tragedy, based on his original personality in the beginning of the series, mention of Ishida-sensei
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-27 16:01:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7624924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiteautumn/pseuds/whiteautumn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of oneshots for Arima and Kaneki, from yours truly. </p><p>Two: <i>soba ni</i> - He was all right, alive, healthy and beside him. </p><p>Ken was not getting rid of him easily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. tsubaki

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I don't own Tokyo Ghoul, Tokyo Ghoul:re nor Tokyo Ghoul √A. They belong to Ishida-sensei. This is a non-profit document.
> 
> Ratings and warnings are subjected to changes since this is a collection - I will alter them as I update.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Embracing Kishou was entirely different from fighting him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole piece makes no sense, mainly because I wrote it at 3am and my body (and fingers) was running purely on feels (not arikane, but karmagisa - although it spurred me to write arikane so...) - it's more free prose than anything else. Interesting (not really) tidbit: If you look closely you can find when I switch moods.
> 
> I tried to edit it and give it more sense since I think it's a pretty piece and I do want to post it. All I can say is I tried.
> 
> Eto's line was entirely from memory - I can't remember what she said, word for word. And I really don't want to go back and check at this point so...

His hugs were always gentle.

Embracing Kishou was entirely different from fighting him. While Arima's ruthless style of fighting encompassed of relentless waves of attacks, Kishou's caresses were always careful and soft.

Almost as if he was afraid the other would break apart at any time.

He made a small noise of protest when the other pulled away, and slowly reached up a hand to cup his chin. A shiver ran down his spine as the other danced his index finger along the sensitive skin of his cheeks, dusted a delicate pink from the other's actions.

When the digits started to trail along the edges of his lips - red from their owner's previous biting - he parted them and moaned softly when the male's fingertips touched his tongue.

The other released a muted groan of approval, but otherwise stayed silent.

He was always silent, whether it was Arima in battle, or Kishou during times of hushed, clandestine intimacy. However he was different, that was the sole component that never changed.

Sometimes he couldn't help but to wonder which side of the older male was the truth - but then he'd berate himself for that; for no individual was one-dimensional, and of course both of them were part of the man he had fallen in love with, and that was just something he had to accept.

And he did.

Whether it was the memories of the sadistic, torturous death the other had subjected him to; the caring, nurturing environment his amnesiac counterpart had been brought up in, of their current hushed coupling, muted yet entirely expressive in their passion.

A sigh of content, and he took the invading digits into his mouth, chuckling mentally at the older male's soft hiss.

He'd have never thought that the other could care so much - and yet, here he was, trying to show him his emotions, his determination, and tell him just how he feels, how much the younger meant to him.

Without words, they never spoke during such times, for spoken words were worth nothing, and they'd always bonded over words that were set in stone. Infinite as they are, existing and always remembered while vague promises voiced disappear, carried away by the waves of the wind and time.

He didn't need verbal reassurance, in a world that's full of lies; and he had no need to speak of such fairytale endings, in a world filled with tragedy.

They knew, regardless of the final outcome, they would always rejoin each other as they are right now. For as long as the world exists, so will Yin and Yang, so will life and death, and so will black and white.

Slowly, he opened his eyes as he felt the fingers withdraw from his mouth, looking into the other's grey - a shade that could only be created by them - eyes. He wondered just how much of him Kishou can actually see now. A normal enemy wouldn't have detected Arima's disability in battle, but he had interacted with Kishou enough to know that soon - very, very, soon; and a part of him can't help but to plead to whatever deity that's out there, silently, for a little more time - soon, the other's world would fade to nothingness.

Reaching up to the other's shoulders, he clutched at them for support when Kishou's fingers entered him, stretching him out in a routine that the both of them have come to be familiar with.

And when Kishou finally entered him - gently, as he always does - he lets out a quiet sob; not from the pain, but from the sudden realisation that he did not want this to end.

Because when the end comes, he would lose Arima's unrelenting vicious attacks, and Kishou's unbelievably tender treatment.

But it has to - it has to, for he could not bring himself to abandon all that he loves, because they were opposite ends of a palette, never supposed to meet.

The world was destined to be painted in a range of bright, vibrant colours, and not shades of grey.

However, now, he held on, releasing gasps and moans of pleasure as they became one again and again and _again_ -

Even the seemingly neverending darkness could not last, for there are no nights without ends. And this was their last, their end.

For when the dawn breaks and the sun rises, painting the sky a crimson red, Kishou will cease to exist -

and they will never meet again.

Hence, he will remember every movement, every caress, and every kiss they share, etching them into his memory of Kishou - kind, warm, understanding Kishou - for the upcoming nights where he will despair, he will be filled with self-doubt and so much hatred (because he didn't deserve to be the person and he was going to fail, fail, fail all of their expectations - Eto, Hide, Arima, _Kishou_ -) since that was the only way to retain his sanity.

He will remember, Kishou's smooth skin, his rippled muscles and his coarse voice, usually so calm and composed, the way he looked when he climaxed and his warmth that flows into him and made him whole again.

* * *

_"Kill the One-Eyed King for me, won't you?"_

He had no intention to take this any further, he'd made that clear.

And when red, warmth - the kind that he hated, another field of flower dyed crimson, sanguine, raw and scarlet (he didn't scream this time - no mere sound could express just what he felt) - bloomed all around him, _them_ (just like the first time they'd met) - drying up, shrivelling into a dark maroon, he knew; the other - Arima, Kishou, did it matter if they were the same person? - could never escape death, for he was death itself, doomed to an end before the beginning.

Just like their love.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tsubaki - camelia. Passion and love.


	2. soba ni (Actor!AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when we were all in denial over Kishou's death? This was what came out of it (for me) - cross-posted from tumblr. 
> 
> It was previously unnamed, I gave it a name (!!)

“ – and cut!”

The director’s instruction echoed through the studio, disturbing the solemnly silent atmosphere.

Arima lets out a breath of relief, and retracts his hand from Ken’s face to wipe away the trail of tears on his. Frowning at the dry feeling in his eyes, he closed them in an effort to moisten them.

That was when he felt the soft drops on his cheeks.

_“… Is he still crying…?”_ Ken was an extremely emotional person, and could cry up a storm in any desperate situation – especially when the scene called for it.

Everyone on set knew this. They were, after all, treated to first class viewing seats to the boy’s waterworks in the beginning of the franchise, way before they had to dye his hair white (and then black and white when he was playing Haise) when the other portrayed his breakdown.

It was infamous, and Kirishima – the sister – didn’t stop teasing Ken for days.

Arima sighed mentally when he heard sobs and sniffs coming from above him – accompanied by the comments from other members of the cast and the crew, asking if the boy was alright and _okay, Kaneki-kun, you can stop crying now_ (he was pretty sure that was Tsukiyama).

Opening his eyes, he gently withdrew himself from the other’s embrace, cringing when he felt the fake blood roll down his neck and into his clothes.

He’d deal with that problem later.

“Ken.” He called out gently. The younger had his eyes closed, and was sobbing with his hands on his face now that he no longer had to support his co-actor.

“Ken,” he tried again. “It’s all right, I’m not really dead, shhh.” Ken’s shoulders were shaking as he wrapped his arms around them.

“B – but, it all – all felt s – so real and,” Arima listened patiently as the other hiccupped through his words, “and – I thought, for th – that moment that K - Kishou, you were really gone!”

It was at times like these Arima cursed the group’s consensus and decision to use their actual names for the characters.

_“Makes things much more real, my ass.”_ He thought, remembering the director’s words from when they were developing characters and the script. They were shooting a tragedy, and any deeper personal connection than what was absolutely necessary could spell trouble for the actors’ emotional states.

It made things worse when you’re dating your fellow co-actor.

“Ken,” He prodded softly at the other, “I’m not going anywhere, I promise. See? Look, I’m all good, and not dead.” In need of a shower to rid himself of this bloody smell, but perfectly healthy otherwise.

He mentally sighed again, this time in relief, when the younger took his hands off his face and peeked at him tentatively. Arima smiled when their eyes met, grasping one of his hands and placing it on his own chest, right over his beating heart.

“Do you feel that?” At the boy’s nod – he had finally stopped crying, Arima noted, but dry sobs were harder to stop – he continued.

“I’ll be here for a good, long time. You’re not getting rid of me easily.” Shaking his head in exasperation, he reached up to cup Ken’s face gently, pressing a light kiss to the other’s trembling lips.

With the taste of tears on the tip of his tongue, Arima leaned back and caressed through white tresses, closing his eyes and enjoying the other’s warmth as Ken leaned into his chest, finally convinced that Arima was still alive.

“… Now that Kaneki-kun’s finally calmed down, could you guys please move away so that we can get set up for the next scene?” The director sighed. Arima pointedly ignored his comment to “wash up immediately or the blood will stick to your skin!”, as well as the brother Kirishima’s snickers as he carried Ken away from the scene, bridal style.

(Despite it being his death scene, he’d have to give the script-writer – Ishida-san – kudos for making it a romantic one.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soba ni - to be beside
> 
> There... might or might not be more of this. Hm.


End file.
